


draw down the sun (shoot, don't look)

by themorninglark



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Tokyo (City), post-university
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 12:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8286431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/themorninglark
Summary: Kise runs his hand through his hair, through the rain. It glistens in droplets rolling off his bangs, now cut shorter; now, a faded gold like the season's last breath, warm in the stillness between them. It will be Obon soon, and maybe Kise will stay a while.
  "I'm always losing to you, Kurokocchi."





	

**Author's Note:**

> I fell down a new hole, don't look at me—

 

 

 

Kuroko slides a handful of loose change across the counter, gives the cashier a polite nod and steps out into the faint, flickering light of a street lamp, the electric white of the _combini_ signboard overhead. There's a crow pecking at a discarded candy wrapper by the kerbside. On the other side of the street, he hears the rusty tinkling of a bicycle bell, snatches of conversation that blend into the waiting night like so many idle murmurs.

None of the voices are familiar, yet they all are, in their way. Kuroko knows the timbre of the city streets.

Under the awning, he paints himself into a corner next to the _gachapon_ machine and sets his backpack on the ground. The Hokkaido milk ice cream is cool in his hands. When he cracks open the lid, something inside catches his eye.

He peels away the plastic spatula, and stares.

 

_Congratulations! You're our 500th lucky winner! Take this ice cream lid into the store for a prize!_

 

 _Again?_ thinks Kuroko.

He scoops off the top layer of ice cream, quickly melting against the warmth of his palm, and savours the mild taste on his tongue. He is in no hurry. He does not really mind it when ice cream goes slushy.

He almost expects some ghost from the past to come sauntering up to him, right then and there; Murasakibara, perhaps, whining about how _lucky_ Kuroko always is, or Momoi, who wears her hair in a ponytail these days. Kuroko remembers the first of his prizes won from a popsicle, years ago, and the spark that lit up Kise's eyes.

He knows Kise will not come sauntering up to him.

Carefully, Kuroko puts the ice cream lid away. There will be another day for claiming, another day when he is craving something sweet. As he shoulders his bag and turns to leave, he glances back through the glass doors of 7-11, and what he knows he will see:

A parting glimpse of a familiar face, a glossy smile from the magazine racks by the front aisles.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_"This one's yours."_

And Kise turns on his heel, throws him the ball over his shoulder. It lands quietly, easily, in between Kuroko's outstretched hands. The rhythmic jingle of another game won, lost, fills the tight space around them in techno surround sound; on the screen beyond the hoop, a number pulses in red. They are so very close to smashing the arcade record, and Kise has not broken a sweat.

"Why are we playing basketball in an arcade?" Kuroko asks.

Kise shrugs, and grins. "Felt like it. Indulge me before I go, won't you?"

"I'm not good at this game."

It is no false humility, and Kuroko knows that Kise knows it too. Still, he watches as Kise's gaze follows the trajectory of his ball, circling round the rim of the hoop before it tips off the edge into a black hole.

Kuroko shoots him a blank look. "Can we play something else now?"

"One more basket," says Kise, irrepressible. "Time's nearly up. Pass me the ball, Kurokocchi."

 

 

* * *

 

 

So Kuroko does, as he has done so many times before, and Kise smiles. Honey and citrus, the tart kind, the kind that stings just a little when Kuroko comes too close. He does not back away.

Neither does Kise.

 

 

* * *

 

 

(Later, Kuroko will think that maybe he should have drawn nearer, after all.

He lets it go. The thought slips through his fingers, and when he closes his eyes, the familiar shape of Kise's back remains fresh in his mind, a view that is not so much dazzling as it is inevitable.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

Among the cypresses, he sees him again, looking like he never left.

Inokashira Park in the summer is sweltering. There's a lazy glimmer on the surface of the lake, the kind that spreads, slowly, promises that time stands still here, in the heat that pools by the reeds on the shore, the lush clouds reflected in the water.

" _Kurokocchi!_ " Kise calls, and Kuroko reaches for a phantom wristband, finds his wrist bare instead. He runs the pad of his thumb over skin and bone. The sensation, like the breeze on his arms, is heady; his sneakers make no sound as he treads across the grass, and Kise is the only one with eyes on him.

Kuroko approaches, says, "I like your new earring."

Kise raises a hand to touch the silver hoop in his left ear. It is almost a carbon copy of the one he used to wear. A little bit smaller, a little bit sleeker. It flatters Kise's profile.

"You noticed!" he says brightly.

Kuroko does not know why Kise continues to be delighted, even amazed, by this. It's hard not to notice Kise when Kise is always noticing him.

He bends down to tie his shoelaces, and looks up. "You wanted to run together, Kise-kun?"

" _Yeah._ Like old times, right?"

And Kise breaks into a grin, then a sprint. Like a whip of lightning, a whirlwind that stirs the dust across the park, he does not hold back. He has never held back for Kuroko, even when they both know Kise is faster.

Kuroko, watching him go, starts off at a jogging pace and takes his time to enjoy the scenery, through the steady sheen of a drizzle that's just starting up.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He waits, and keeps on moving. He does not stay quite so perfectly still as people think he does. The easiest way to blend into a crowd, after all, is to flow with the tide, and see what it brings him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Somehow, it always seems to bring him _this_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

So Kuroko has been waiting, all this while, and Kise will catch up to him in the end, and sure enough, he does. It doesn't take long. Kise's always been the impatient one, the one who reached for him in the shadow, and tried to close his brittle grasp around an _idea_ , an ideal. A phantom that Kuroko never really was.

Maybe now, he understands better. They both do.

Kuroko finds him leaning over a railing of stone and metal by the Kanda River, staring out at the water, and as he turns, his lips part in search of an earnest breath.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_"It's been a while," says Kise, "since we really had the chance to talk."_

 

 

* * *

 

 

The last time he had said it, he'd been perched on the back of a bench in a playground, collar unbuttoned, tie hanging loose and easy around his neck. They had found a corner just for themselves, and he had spun the basketball between his hands like it was the sun. Kise would hold the sun just like that, without fear, only wonder, and the simple belief that it would never burn him.

"The last time you said that, Kise-kun…"

"I know, _I know_! I'd just lost, and you'd just rejected me, and it was the _worst_ day, you don't have to rub it in!"

"I wasn't going to," says Kuroko.

Kise runs his hand through his hair, through the rain. It glistens in droplets rolling off his bangs, now cut shorter; now, a faded gold like the season's last breath, warm in the stillness between them. It will be _Obon_ soon, and maybe Kise will stay a while.

"I'm _always_ losing to you, Kurokocchi."

To the beat of a balmy drizzle, Kuroko considers this. He walks on. Kise follows.

"That's not true," Kuroko says, eventually.

Kise clicks his tongue. " _Tsk._ It's not like you to lie."

He drops his arm back to his side, long fingers falling like they ache to pluck at something, maybe the edge of a hoop, a net. Maybe the light, a shimmering outline of something he can touch at last.

Kuroko tastes salt in his mouth. He thinks summer's sweat has finally caught up with him.

"What did you want to talk about this time?" he asks.

"So _blunt_. Can't I just want to hang out with you, when I'm in town? Do I always have to have an _agenda_?"

"Yes," Kuroko says, without hesitation.

Kise sighs, a wounded whine. To Kuroko's surprise, his grin brightens.

"Okay, yeah, fine. See? _Told you_ I was always losing to you," he says.

Kuroko listens, takes Kise's words for what they are. A lilt that hasn't changed. An edge, laid bare just for Kuroko's ears, and Kuroko finds, in return, an answering smile within himself that bubbles up to his placid surface, slow-dances on the corners of his lips.

"But I'm hurt, really," Kise adds, with a lazy stretch of his arms overhead. "Can't you guess?"

"I have no idea what you're thinking, Kise-kun."

"It's the _same_ , you know. The same thing I wanted to talk about last time. Why did you disappear just like that?"

The question's spun round Kise's gilded voice, casual and careless, like a basketball on a fingertip, a pale cirrus streak across the clearing sky. The last of the rain is upon them. The pavement is slippery still, and it is Kise who reaches out to take Kuroko by the elbow, slow their steps so they do not end this meeting with Kuroko's head in bandages again. His touch is sure, and Kuroko fits into it like a glove.

 _I didn't disappear_ , is what Kuroko wants to say, but he thinks that maybe it will sound like another lie to Kise, and so he presses back instead.

"Didn't you disappear too, after university?"

"I _moved_ —"

"Isn't that the same?"

Kise tips his chin up, tilts his head so his eyes are in the shadow of the trees overhead, half-hooded. "No, because _you_ , you moved without telling me where you were going."

"Did it matter?" Kuroko asks. "We all had our own things to do. I saw you on all those magazine covers."

"Of _course_ it mattered," Kise insists.

"I came back. You didn't," Kuroko points out.

Kise's eyebrows rise slightly. He leans closer.

"Were you _waiting_ for me to come back, by any chance?"

"No," says Kuroko.

Kise slumps, rests his head on Kuroko's shoulder lightly before he straightens. "Don't _do_ that to me, Kurokocchi! Here I was, hoping for a _touching reunion_ , and you crush all my hopes and dreams. _Again._ "

"Your hopes and dreams are stronger than that, Kise-kun."

Kise's eyes go wide, and he smiles. _There_ it is. The smile that Kuroko knows.

"They are, huh?" says Kise.

Kuroko stuffs his hands in his pockets. He is wearing his old tracksuit today. It is slightly frayed, slightly stretched, in places that have grown comfortable, still surprise him to encounter all over again. These are the places he keeps Kise. The revelation unfolds in folds that run deeper than they look, creases as well-loved as they are worn in, that cannot be ironed away.

He remembers what he had said about Kise, once. Many times. _Not just a pretty face._

Well, less pretty, now. Kuroko can say that objectively. The first flush of youthful teenhood has left its mark on that shapely jawline, kissed him goodbye like a moth drawn to another, more beautiful flame, and this Kise is what remains. Someone real, like Kuroko. He is the light that has found its elusive, ever-shifting shadow, as Kuroko has trapped the light in his palms, and set it free, and they carry a little bit of each other with them, as perhaps they always have.

"I wasn't really waiting for you to come back," says Kuroko, "because I knew you would. And then I knew you would leave again. Won't you, Kise-kun?"

Kise does not reply right away, and in his silence, Kuroko has all his answers.

"It's okay. I don't like you all that much," he says, to an indignant yelp from Kise; one that he ignores as he continues, "But that doesn't have anything to do with it."

"Hmmm." Kise hums under his breath.

Kuroko smiles, softly.

"I guess it doesn't," Kise concedes. "Even if you _don't like me_ , I'll keep chasing you. Maybe one day, I'll even _win_. What do you think of that, Kurokocchi?"

"I'll be here," is all Kuroko says.

He does not add that it is a promise, or anything like that, for it is not; he does not say where _here_ is, for it is no prefecture in all of Greater Tokyo, no city or street that he can name. It is the corner outside a _combini_ , it is the sounds of an arcade and the _swish_ of a ball flying through the air. It is wherever Kise is and all of the years they have shared, till finally, finally—

"I know," says Kise, unadorned.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The late afternoon glows, lacquered in the tangerine light of the sun in all its hazy, setting splendour, and Kise reaches for Kuroko's hand.

This time, he catches it.

 

 

 

 


End file.
